Like Wind On A Dry Branch Novels & Stories

“Please, I need to know he got the message. Did he get my message? Did he?” All of a sudden, the forest erupted. The air shimmered, and a mighty gust rolled through, blasting leaves off the ground and tearing loose ones from the swaying trees. Birds burst from the canopy as branches lashed together. Barks creaked and groaned. A thin veil of dust rose as twigs skittered across the ground. I flinched as the harsh wind pushed against me, blowing my hair wildly and lifting the hem of my skirt. My clothes snapped against my body as I braced myself, squinting while trying to see through the haze.

“I'll help you! It will be easier that way! “While on the roof Dalton helped me up all the way. The branch was more or less large and thick. I just hoped it wasn't heavy. These winds like that brought things from longer, who knows where this branch would come from. And a branch never came alone. " Why are you so stubborn?! " It is dangerous. “Dalton and I were completely soaked. "Stop blaming me and help me!" I started to take the branch from one end. The wind did not help much but we would have to take the branch in that direction. Don't go against the wind. Dalton took the other end, we picked up the branch and started to carry it towards the other end of the house. "It's heavy!" I put her

Rosalind Whoosh! The long sword moved effortlessly as I lightly swung it above my head then brought it down with brute force. The branch got detached from the tree, its dry leaves scattering on the ground. The sky was dark, and only the moon served as my source of light—the sound of the owls chirping served as my audience as if cheering me on.

The Ambaram As the icy wind cuts through the sleepy forest of Ambaram, the dried leaves from the top of old trees that were barely appended to the thick and thin branches finally resigned their lives at the top and descended to the solid grounds. They were deteriorating under the harsh attacks of a cruel climate. The dry weather was sucking the moisture out of them. The shady fog wasn’t allowing the sunlight to reach them, limiting their source of nourishment. Soon, the trees will discard them completely and as the spring will come around the corner, new buds will sprout, marking the commencement of a new season.

Before going to bed, I took my diary and wrote down a quote from Lise Kiberwa's poetry collection called "Wind", Completely for no reason at all!: >>Like the wind, I don't want to belong anywhere. Just like the wind, I want to be felt but not seen. Like the wind, I want to both strengthen and extinguish the wildfire. Like the wind, I want to stress some poor old lady gently sweeping her compound by bringing all the dirt she's been removing.

There was a dead silence for a moment which lingered the temperate atmosphere. It is almost noon but the weather is neither hot nor cold. The sun was supposed to scorching at this hour but the not-so-thick, grayish clouds concealed it just enough to prevent a prevent a person from perspiring a lot. While the lukewarm breeze brushed across their troubled faces, the nearby trees made their dance to its gentle caress on their branches, detaching a few golden brown leaves.

I frowned. “Directing it where?” He gestured around us. “Anywhere.” That didn’t help. I took another breath. Focused again. The pulse responded faster this time. Easier. Like it recognized me now. I reached for it again— And this time, I didn’t just feel it. I pushed. The reaction was immediate. The wind shifted sharply. Leaves lifted from the ground, swirling briefly before settling again. Not violent. Not destructive. But controlled. Intentional.

We walked through the Dirt in a silence that wasn’t quite silence. The wind moved around us softly, like a breath on the back of the neck—gentle, deliberate, wrong. Fine particles of dust drifted down from the sky in lazy spirals, clinging to my eyebrows, the creases of my coat, the corners of my mouth. It settled with intention, as if it had a memory of me.

The trail is sloppy—amateur, almost—but there’s no mistaking it. The snow is scored with tracks, prints deep and wide apart, each stride a lunge, not a trot. Branches hang low where something crashed through, shedding ice crystals in lazy, glittering sheets. The woods are loud with moonlight, every shadow edged in silver, and the wind combs the treetops like fingers through brittle hair.

Also, presently, I will pay. The tree wobbles, influencing in that harsh breeze. My dress presses against me, drove once again by the horrendous storms. The power of the breeze increments, almost pushing me to the ground as the tree arrives at full level and strength. It swells with energy, the radiant red popping around it like lightning. The breeze appears to circle around this goliath beast, practically like a cyclone with its speed and concentration. However, at, that point, there is a break that stops my heart.